Split Second
by Cardinal Robbins
Summary: When executing an arrest warrant goes horribly wrong for John Munch and his partner, Sarah Zelman, one of their lives hangs in the balance as the other is overcome thinking of what should have been. Can the squad survive in the wake of tragedy? (News update from the author is included with chapter two!)
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**_**:** _Yes, I'm writing SVU fic again, in between bouts of trying to get my crime novel figured out. You've all been so great to me over the years that I wanted to try and do a couple of things – eventually finish my novella, "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," and to give you all something hardcore, which is this novella. It's been a long time since I've put John through the wringer, so please enjoy the angst and let me know what you think._

_I hope I haven't lost my touch for gritty crime drama, featuring our favorite Sergeant and his ex-FBI partner._

_And thank you for all the kind e-mails you've sent me through the years, as well as the reviews. I always appreciate your time and thoughts, and can't thank you enough for reading my work._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sergeant John Munch and Detective Sarah Zelman stood on the street side of their gray Crown Victoria, staring at the three storey row house's battered front door. "I'm in first," he said, pulling his suit jacket on over his Kevlar vest. "Or is it your turn?" He pulled his Glock from its holster and racked the slide, chambering up a 9mm bullet.

"I was just about to remind you, it's my turn," Zelman replied tersely, as she tightened her slug resistant vest and drew her pistol. "Got the warrant?" She knew he had it in his jacket pocket, signed by a judge less than two hours ago.

"Got it." He patted his pocket, raising the handheld radio enough to get her attention. "Back-up's on stand-by in case we need them. Two units just out of sight, in case ol' Bubba decides he doesn't want to come with us peaceably." He squinted slightly behind his darkened glasses, trying to see through the filthy rain-streaked glass of the second storey apartment at the front of the building.

"Intel says his girlfriend made it out of there, so let's pick him up," Sarah decided, both of them walking carefully toward the front door, their gaze darting from the entryway to the upstairs windows. "I'm glad she finally hit her limit and left him. Too bad it took him raping her one too many times for her to leave."

"Ya think?" John gave her a look, his hand on the front door. He turned the knob then allowed himself a tight smile. "I guess no one bothers to lock up when they leave. Makes our job a lot easier." He slowly pushed the door open, relieved there was no creaking despite the elderly door's peeling paint and slight warp. "I'm up the stairs first, then it's all yours."

Sarah nodded, her footsteps close behind his as they slowly, almost silently made their way up the wooden stairs. The worn carpeting down the center of each tread was threadbare in places, the detectives staying on the wall side as opposed to the center where creaking would give them away. At the landing, Zelman saw a still form several steps above them, a pool of dark liquid spreading from the body face down on the pockmarked wooden floor. "Oh, shit," she whispered, "that's Rhonda. It has to be."

John led them up the rest of the stairs then knelt by the woman's body as he checked her pulse. "Correction – that _was_ Rhonda." He cast a glance at the door of apartment two-twenty-six, his right hand tightening on his pistol. "I'm not sure which is worse, the fact we've got incorrect intel on this guy or that he's escalated." He stood, waving his partner back against the wall as he waited there for a moment deliberating their options. After a long sigh, he looked at Sarah and said, "Change of plans. I'm in first."

"Then write me up for insubordination, Sarge," she whispered back hotly. "This is no time to get into the argument of whether or not I can do my job." She glared at him, edging her way past. "When I kick the door in, only then will we identify ourselves. This guy gets as little warning as possible. Agreed?"

"Yes. Let's do this." He gripped the handheld even tighter, fighting the urge to call the backup units to move in closer. If James Ray "Bubba" Crandall saw blue and whites outside his window, they could be in a gunfight before they were ready for it. "Go ahead."

Sarah took a deep breath, stepped quickly in front of the cheap wooden door and kicked hard, her black boot splintering the point just above the knob as it breached and flung wide open. Before she could shout, "NYPD!," she felt something slam into her chest and she fell, taking John to the floor with her. Her ears were ringing as she heard what had to be her partner getting a shot off.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, feeling something fly past his head as he fired a second shot. By instinct, he threw the handheld in the direction of the stairs before he grabbed Zelman under the arms and yanked her toward him, away from the apartment door. He stood, stepping clumsily over the body of their vic as he pulled Sarah to her feet, pressed her against the wall and stood in front of her, holding his G-34 in a two-handed grip in case Crandall came out to improve his odds of killing them both.

He heard low moans coming from inside the apartment, satisfied that luck was on his side once again and he'd hit Bubba with at least one shot. John felt Sarah slumped against his back, still on her feet. He turned toward her, hoping it was the impact of a large caliber slug hitting her vest that had taken her down. A .45 caliber bullet against Kevlar could easily stun a cop, knocking them off of their feet. His face went pale as he saw two inches of fiberglass rod sticking out of her chest – stiff yellow feathers along the end. _Feathers_.

For a long moment, he didn't understand, until he eased her to the floor. A stunned look on her face, she reached up to touch the feathers. "Crossbow…he has a crossbow," she half-whispered. "The bolt went through my vest. We have to get out of here, John…we need ESU."

"I need to get you out of here before I can call ESU," he said quickly. "Stay with me, Sarah – please don't leave me." He maneuvered himself against the wall before he bent to pick her up, making his way carefully down the stairs. He briefly thought of the back-up units and hoped they wouldn't come in on their own. The last thing he needed was more officers down.

John heard Sarah's sharp intake of breath with each step, but he couldn't let it stop him. At the bottom of the stairs he made an executive decision to get them into any available apartment on the first floor, out of range if Crandall recovered enough to try and finish what he'd started.

"Sarah? Can you hear me?" He knelt near the door of apartment one-nineteen, easing his partner to the floor as gently as he could. "Sarah? I need you to talk to me – I need you to stay with me." He felt her forehead as she opened her eyes, worried she was cold and clammy to the touch.

"I'll be okay," she lied, struggling to breathe. "Are you all right, John? Were you hit?" She tried to look him over for any signs of injury, but she couldn't get her eyes to completely focus.

"I'm fine, I wasn't hit," he replied, forcing a calmness into his voice he didn't feel. "I'm getting us somewhere safe, then we'll get ESU in here with the paramedics." John stood, knew he should identify himself, but instead kicked the door hard enough to force it open. He carried his partner into the empty apartment, grateful no one was there to interfere with him. The living room was the largest space he could find, a safe bet the paramedics would have room to work there. He laid Sarah down, then immediately started searching for a blanket as he keyed the handheld.

"Unit 3270, call ESU and EMS to our location – officer down!" He hoped Zelman couldn't hear the panic in his voice as he tried to find the bedroom in the small apartment. "Advise ESU the perp is armed with a crossbow and we have a fatality. They need to escort EMS inside before attempting to apprehend the perp – the officer down has to come out immediately!" It was then he found it: A heavy quilt on the twin bed in the small room. He yanked it off and flung it over his shoulder, his footsteps echoing through the apartment as he went back to his partner's side. He put down the radio, his long fingers going to Sarah's neck for a pulse. It was fast and thready, but there.

"John…" She closed her eyes as he doubled the quilt and draped it over her, tucking it in. "I'm trying not to go into shock." She reached her hand out toward his, as he took it and squeezed. "I'm sorry. The pain might take me out." She tried to squeeze his hand but couldn't. "I'm freezing…" She knew she was losing a lot of blood, her lung was saturated with it, making it progressively harder for her to draw a breath. Under her vest, her shirt was soaking wet with blood rapidly cooling. A wave of vertigo washed over her as she tried to force her eyes open. If she concentrated on John's face, maybe shock wouldn't take her down.

"Shhhhhhh, Sarah," he said, "do your best to stay with me." John put his free hand against her cheek, caressing it for a long moment. He watched fearfully as her face paled even more in the room's low light. "We both know you're tough – you made it through the WTC disaster and you can make it through this, too." He felt hot tears against his hand as it rested on her cheek. "Squeeze my hand, Sarah…it'll help against the pain. Squeeze as hard as you can, it won't hurt me. Do whatever you have to, just _don't_ leave me."

"We need ESU," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I'm floating…it's shock." Sarah knew it was only a matter of time before the blood loss would take her from John. She felt him cradling her head, caressing her cheek, his fingers against her carotid artery every few moments to take her pulse. "I'm fighting, John."

"I know you are, Sarah. Everything's going to be okay." After what felt like an eternity, he heard a stampede, men in heavy boots storming the building as they looked for him and his partner. "We're in here!" John shouted. "We need help in here **NOW**!"

oOoOoOo

Fin Tutuola had heard John's initial call over the radio, able to discern the thinly veiled panic in his voice. He knew his partners were executing an arrest warrant, his street sense telling him to stick close to the area as the action came down. The minute he heard Munch say 'officer down,' he hit the lights and siren in the unmarked he was driving and blew the speed limit all to hell as he raced toward the scene.

He stepped out of the car just in time to see ESU enter the house in tight formation, their polycarbonate shields raised as they protected the paramedics who entered with them. Fin wasn't wearing a vest and realized there was no way he'd be allowed to enter, in light of what had happened to Zelman – and the victim they'd hoped to protect. A long fifteen minutes later, he saw two medics carefully maneuvering a gurney with a patient covered in heavy white blankets. Munch was at the foot of the stretcher, holding an IV bag high as he paced alongside the paramedics, two ESU team members flanking him.

Fin jogged over to the ambulance, catching the car keys John threw to him. "Where are they taking her?" He watched John pass the IV bag to another medic as they loaded Zelman into the EMS unit.

"Mercy General – it's closest," Munch replied. "Find someone to get my unmarked over there." A paramedic reached down, extending his hand to pull John up into the rig. "I'll see you in the ER – make sure Cragen knows what happened!" Before he could say anything else, a firefighter closed the doors and banged on them twice as the driver hit the sirens and rapidly pulled away, escorted by one of the patrol units.

Munch thought his stomach would hit zero gravity, the ambulance pulled out so quickly. His shoulders tensed as he heard the siren, saw the strobe of the lights against the back windows. He watched them working on Zelman and he could feel his own pulse rate jump, her blood drying like adhesive against the skin on his hands. "Here. You'll need this," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, folded sheet of paper. It was her emergency medical information. They carried their own and each other's – just in case.

"That has all of her info?" the paramedic asked, as he nodded. "This buys us some time." He quickly scanned the sheet for her allergies and other vital details. "Here it is – blood type. She's O-Neg," he said to his partner. "Call it in so they can get some packed cells ready. This saves us time on type and cross-match."

"How bad?" Munch asked, aware the color had completely drained from her face. "I need to know," he insisted, wiping his hands on his slacks. He wanted to wipe away the blood, to wipe away her pain. He wanted to rewind the last hour, when she was there with him. She wasn't with him now, she'd gone somewhere he couldn't follow.

"Still working on her. We're doing all we can to get her stable," one of the paramedics said to John. "Blood pressure?" he asked his partner.

"Seventy over forty, holding for the moment, down from eighty over fifty," he said.

"Says here she's a blood donor. When's the last time she donated?" Chuck Conyer asked John. The siren was so loud, Munch could hardly hear the question. He fought to keep his balance while the ambulance weaved rapidly through heavy traffic, a patrol car in front of them trying to clear the way.

"Last week," Munch replied. "I'm certain of it. She banks her own blood at Mercy General."

"Pulse is 130 and thready." Chuck reached over and opened each of her eyes, flicking a penlight back and forth. "Good… Pupils reactive to light. Her breathing's pretty shallow, I'm going to start bagging."

"Need me to help you intubate her?" Luis asked his partner.

"No, they can do that when they prep her for the O.R.," he explained quickly. "She's still breathing on her own, barely – it's supplemental." He connected an AmBu bag to the oxygen mask covering her face and began to squeeze it, forcing her to take deeper breaths.

"What does that mean?" John asked loudly. "Did she stop breathing? Somebody tell me!"

"It's okay," the paramedic replied. "My partner's pushing more oxygen into her lungs, is all – it'll help her." He pumped up the blood pressure cuff once more and listened carefully as he allowed the air to slowly escape. "Sixty over thirty-five. I'm adding more pressure to the MASTs, Chuck." The frustration in his voice wasn't lost on Munch. The paramedic quickly inflated the anti-shock trousers with additional air, to increase Zelman's dangerously low blood pressure.

"We've got blood in the I.V. line, Luis. Can you restart it in another vein? This one's blown," he groused. "Mercy Base wants a red-top for an H&H and ABGs, but I don't think we can get it." He upped the oxygen and went back to squeezing the AmBu bag, as he worked against the clock. "Sarah," he called out loudly, over the wail of the siren, "you're gonna have to stay with us, you hear me? Your partner's here with you, you're going to be okay – no checking out."

John desperately wanted to reach over and take her hand, but he knew better than to interfere with the paramedics' efforts. "Sarah, we're almost there," he said, hoping she could hear him on some level. "You've got to hang on – I know you can hear me!" He saw blood was seeping through the second thick layer of Kerlix the medics had wrapped around the fletched bolt to stabilize it. "Zelman – "

Luis Rivera opened each of Sarah's eyes once more, with another flick of the penlight he made a decision. "She's hanging in there. Keep bagging her, Chuck. We're not going to chance blowing another vein. I'm calling in for a cutdown kit." He called the nurse at the base station in Mercy's ER, and had a terse conversation. "They can get a trans line into the antecubital, now that they know we need a surgical nurse standing by. Let 'em pull a red-top then," he decided.

"Would you translate that into English?" John asked sharply, sure they were deep in code to prevent him from knowing everything had headed south. "What the hell is going on? What's happening to her?" His breath caught in his chest as he looked at Sarah, her complexion the shade of gray shock victims colored before their vital signs tanked completely.

"We're having problems with her veins collapsing, because of shock," Luis replied brusquely. "We want to make sure plenty of oxygen's getting into her blood. Can't tell you more than that right now. Don't worry, we're not far."

_Don't worry, my ass. She's dying but they won't admit they're losing her,_ he thought bitterly. John looked over at the telemetry monitor. Her heartbeat was too fast, but looked like he presumed an EKG should. He wanted her to open her eyes, to see him, talk to him, but he knew there was no chance. He said a silent prayer that they'd get her into surgery in time. He had heard the paramedics request a vascular surgeon be placed on stand-by, with an ER doctor to meet them at the doors.

After what felt like hours to John, the EMS unit pulled into the Emergency entrance; Munch opened the doors and jumped out, followed by the paramedics. They brought Zelman out and rolled the stretcher into the triage area at a run, meeting an ER doctor who led them into an exam room.

The surgeon had gone straight to the OR to scrub, knowing the ER team would quickly prep her for surgery.

John followed the gurney into the treatment room, before a Registered Nurse physically blocked him. "I'm sorry, you can't be in here right now. You need to go to the waiting area." He looked over her shoulder and couldn't see Sarah anymore, as the trauma team swarmed into action around her. They were calling instructions to each other; he knew it was much worse than he could have ever imagined.

"I need to be with her," he asserted, watching their odd choreography not unlike controlled chaos. "She's my partner. See this? You can't keep me out of here! I have a durable power of attorney, in case – "

"Surgical nurse is here," someone called out. "We need a cutdown on the right antecubital, stat! Get the red-top and bump it to the top of the heap – we need it _**now**_!"

For all John knew, the trauma team could have been conversing in fluent Greek. "Tell me what's going on, I – "

"I'm sorry, there's no time to explain. They're trying to get the bleeding stopped and get her stable," the ER nurse said. "We have to get her into surgery."

Someone had yanked the curtain partially closed, completely obscuring Zelman from view. "She's going into surgery without someone signing the release?" John asked, incredulous.

"Because of the situation, we have implied consent but I'll have paperwork for you to sign soon," she replied, taking him by the arm and gently leading him toward the ER waiting area. "Please, go into the waiting room and we'll tell you as soon as we know something, I promise." She saw the look on his face and ached for him. Her husband was a patrol cop with the twenty-second precinct. "We're going to take good care of her," she said softly. "Check in with the receptionist. We'll try to keep you updated."

He nodded and reluctantly left, on legs that no longer felt like his. Instead of sitting down, he paced off adrenaline that replenished as quickly as he tried to dissipate it.

Odafin walked in and saw him, John's face ashen against his dark suit, shirt and tie. Munch was still in his dark blue Kevlar vest, the bullet-resistant material smeared with blood. "Anything yet, bro? Man, you better sit down before you fall down. C'mon…" He nodded toward a couple of vacant chairs, in hopes his partner would stop walking the floor for a few minutes.

"They're prepping her for surgery," John explained. "The surgeon is ready for her, they're working as fast as they can to stabilize her. That's all I know right now." He sank down into a seat, his head down, vacantly staring at worn white floor tiles. "No one's had the guts to tell me, but they all know I'm losing her."

Fin pulled in a long breath, letting it out very slowly as he tried to get his own anxiety under control. He wasn't about to let John see the fear he felt. After the EMS unit had pulled out, he'd talked to one of the firefighters still on-scene and knew exactly what had taken place. "That's whack, John," he insisted. "Sarah's tough as hell, ain't nobody taking her off this rock before she decides it's time." He was saying it aloud for his benefit as well as his partner's, trying to convince them both it was true.

"She shouldn't be in there, Fin." Munch didn't raise his head, eyes cast downward as he continued to stare at the floor, his elbows on his knees.

"Nobody should be in there, John," Tutuola replied. "Cops should be on the streets, not in the emergency room or surgery." He looked at Munch's hands for a moment, blood encrusted around his nails and dried in patches on his palms from his attempts at slowing Zelman's bleeding.

"You don't get it, do you?" His voice began to crack as he tried to compose himself. "She shouldn't be in there, because _I_ should be." He raised his head wearily, turning toward his partner. "I'm the one who _should_ in there, but I'm not! I let her go in first, Fin. I'm the one who's responsible for all of this!" He moved abruptly from his chair to stand with his face against the wall, his arms hiding his head. "I told her plans had changed, I was going to be in first – and then I let her have her way. Now she's barely alive because I didn't force her to obey my order! What the hell kind of cop does that make me? I out-rank her and couldn't get her to listen to me. She's my partner, I'm supposed to protect her!"

Fin stood, pulling John away from the wall to face him. "This wasn't your fault, John. We bring in perps every day. This was a bust gone bad and you couldn't help it." He pointed to Munch's vest for emphasis as he added, "You did everything by the book. You had your vests on, you had your weapons drawn. We all trade off on who goes in first, it's what we do. El and Liv do the same thing, everybody does. Your rank doesn't matter; being a sergeant doesn't mean she's going to listen to you any better than she has all along. Sarah always does things her way."

"What I did was endanger the one person who means the most to me," he replied. "I should have shoved her out of the way, Fin! If she doesn't make it, it's because of _my_ decision – my actions – and I have to find a way to live with that." His voice finally broke as he closed his eyes and grappled for composure. "If she dies on the operating table, it's because I've killed her."

oOoOoOo

A split-second had changed John's life. The worst day of his life thus far had started the night before, as he lay awake next to Sarah, his mind refusing to stop analyzing the results of the day's trial. At five-thirty the next morning, he got out of bed even more tired than he'd been the day prior. He pulled on his robe, stepped into his slippers, went to the kitchen table and let out an aggravated sigh.

"I thought we agreed last night that you were going to make us some oatmeal," he said, clearly annoyed. "This is the third day in a row you've made eggs and turkey bacon." He looked at her, displeasure obvious on his features.

Sarah tried not to take umbrage but failed. "I know you didn't get much sleep last night. Neither did I, so I was on automatic pilot and made eggs," she explained, trying to keep her voice even. "I forgot about the oatmeal. I'm sorry." She stood next to the kitchen counter, wondering if she dared sit down with him or not.

"Where's the sports section?" John asked, his tone unchanged. "Everything looks like it was caught in a hurricane." He searched through the stack of newspaper, trying to find the sports section to read basketball scores. "Sarah, when you get to the paper first, could you leave the sports section where I can find it?"

"It's almost at the top, John," she replied, irritated. "I had everything stacked neatly. You would have gotten to the paper first, but you slept a little later." She finally allowed herself to sit down across from him.

"Yeah, right, sure," he muttered. "You could have woken me up." He snapped open the newspaper and hid behind it.

"And I could have made you oatmeal, too, but obviously somebody pissed in your corn flakes this morning," she snarked as he put down the paper. "What's your problem this morning, John? If you didn't get enough sleep, call in and use a personal day." She watched him let his eggs get cold, further angered he wasn't about to eat them. She despised seeing food wasted with so many people on the streets who'd love a hot meal of any sort.

"_My_ problem? My problem is that your testimony didn't exactly help Casey put the perp away yesterday." He stared right through her, anger in his dark eyes. "Why didn't you go into more detail? You know Casey wanted the jury to know more about his previous sexual assaults, but you didn't bring it up."

Zelman met his gaze, challenging it with her own fury. "During trial prep, Casey told me not to bring it up on my own. She said she'd lead me there if she wanted that to be used against Robertson." She huffed, surprised and annoyed by John's attitude. "She warned me the defense could suppress details from his previous trial, which meant she obviously didn't want to open that can of worms." Sarah debated taking up a forkful of eggs, then thought better of it as her stomach churned. "Last night, you told me you were fine with my testimony. Now you're not. Make up your mind, John."

"My mind's already made up. Robertson only got fifteen years, he'll be out on good behavior in seven, give or take," Munch asserted. "We could have put him away for twenty-five." He got up to refill his mug of tea, further irritated to find French roast in the coffee maker instead of hot water. "It's going to be another crap-storm of a day, I can feel it already."

Sarah pushed her plate away, the food untouched. "I don't have to take this from you," she decided. "I have enough to think about without you shoving your bad attitude into the start of my day." She got up from her chair, pushed it in and walked past him toward the bedroom.

"Great. Here we go again," he said angrily. "I'm trying to discuss things with you, but you get pissed and walk away." He watched as she stopped and turned toward him.

"This isn't a 'discussion,' John – it's an argument. I'm leaving it, so you can bitch to yourself – and you can make your own fucking oatmeal," she added, walking into his bedroom and closing the door.

He was mad enough to kick something but there was nothing in the kitchen he could damage. He muttered to himself as he added water to instant oatmeal and microwaved it, while emptying both their plates into the garbage disposal. Fifteen minutes later, he saw Zelman as she walked by the entrance to the kitchen, purse in hand. "Where are you going?"

"To work. I'm going back to my place to get the Saturn," she said, her mood reflected in her tone of voice. "Feel free to cruise into the precinct whenever, _Sarge_." She was furious enough to be cruel, mocking him over his change in rank and how he seemed to use it only when he wanted to get under her skin about something.

Before he could reply, she'd opened the door and left. He made a vow not to speak to her in the bullpen unless he absolutely had no other choice.

oOoOoOo

Four hours into their shift and they still had yet to share a word between them, unless forced. With Stabler and Benson in court, Tutuola kept his head down and worked on his DD-5s, speaking to each of them as little as possible. Once Sarah left the room, he went to John's desk and sat on the edge. "You two started the day with a fight, didn't you?"

"Gee, ya think?" Munch replied. "I'd really rather not discuss it." He gave Fin a look that forbade further comment, knowing it wouldn't work.

"Sometimes, you're both two cats in a bag." He saw Zelman coming down the hall and left his perch. "Which one of you is going to apologize first?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"She is," he replied. "She doesn't have a choice." He'd have rather buried his head in filing his fives than have Fin butting into his personal life at the moment.

"Don't bet on it, bro." Tutuola returned to his desk just as Zelman entered the bullpen. He looked toward Munch, who had put on his best blank expression as Sarah sat down. Fin saw his sometimes-partner studiously ignoring the sergeant, wondering when the two of them would make peace. Before he could ponder the question further, Cragen was standing between John and Sarah's desks.

Don looked down at both of them, his expression of displeasure clearly evident. "Zelman, my office. _Now_." Without waiting for her to acknowledge him, he headed back to his office sure she was a few steps behind him. He held the door as she entered, then motioned to her to sit. "Have a seat, Detective. Hopefully, this won't take up much of your time."

She nodded, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. Something told her she was in for a major ass-chewing, but for what she wasn't sure. "Is this about yesterday's trial?"

Cragen settled himself behind his desk, his right hand going to the canister of red licorice he kept nearby. "Want one?" He took one for himself when she shook her head no. "Should this be about yesterday's trial? That's not why I called you in here, but if there's something I should know, let me hear it."

Sarah knew it was a bad sign when he went for the licorice. It was his stress snack, saved for occasions when he was either being pressured by the brass or had a bone to pick with one of his squad. "Sarge is pretty pissed at me right now. He feels Casey and I blew Robertson's chances at twenty-five years."

"The D.A.'s office is satisfied with how this one turned out," he replied. "I'm aware of the extenuating circumstances, so I'm okay with what we got." He looked her squarely in the eye for a long, uncomfortable moment. "What I'm not all right with is the fact you and John aren't speaking to each other right now. I want that situation fixed, even if you both have to go to an interrogation room to talk it out." He pulled a piece of paper from a stack on his desk, handing it over to her to read. "You two got your arrest warrant for James Ray Crandall. I want him in here, booked and in a holding cell no later than three this afternoon. Sooner, rather than later," he intoned. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes," she replied quietly. "I'll show this to Munch and we'll go pick him up."

"First, I want him in here. Go let him know."

Sarah walked back to her desk an irritated woman as she passed the arrest warrant to John. "We got what we wanted," she said, her tone icy. "Cap would like to see you." She met his look with one of her own, her expression not giving up the fact she'd been chewed upon and now it was about to be his turn. She watched as he folded the warrant to slip into his inside jacket pocket, getting up slowly to walk to the gallows.

John gently rapped on the open door of Cragen's office, waiting for his superior to say something in order to gauge his mood. "You wanted to see me, Cap?"

"Come on in, close the door and have a seat, John."

He did as he was told, reminding himself not to go on the offensive. "It's good we got the go-ahead to get Crandall off the streets." He tried to appear perfectly calm, even though he was curious about what Sarah had said.

"That's not why you're in here and you know it," Don replied, letting an incoming call roll to voicemail. "I'll get right to the point. Haven't I intentionally turned a blind eye to your relationship with Zelman?" He looked so intently into John's eyes, Munch felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "Ever since you passed the sergeant's exam, haven't I resisted busting both of you – especially you – for fraternizing with an officer below your rank?"

John cleared his throat, aware how thoroughly it had tightened up on him. "Yes and yes," he replied carefully. "Are you busting us now? Why? What's changed?" His blood pressure rose at the very thought of IAB calling them in for a hearing. He knew he'd take the brunt of it, probably losing his stripes if not his pension. Sarah would take as much of the heat for him as she could, including giving up her badge to see him spared. What had he done to deserve this? John wondered.

"I'm not turning you both in, because in good conscience I couldn't," Cragen said, trying to allay John and Sarah's biggest fear. "But I'm not happy about this morning and the fact both of you have yet to share a civil word. The only thing Zelman would tell me is that the Robertson case got under your skin and you're unhappy with how it turned out. That makes one of us," he continued. "I'm okay with it and you should be, too."

"We could have done a hell of a lot better for the vic," he retorted. "Where's the justice for her?" It wasn't a rhetorical question as far as he was concerned.

"She told me this morning, she was happy with whatever we could do, John. We'll all have to live with it as best we can." Don heard another call come through, this one on his cell; it, too, was ignored to roll to voicemail. "My point here is this: You need to get with Sarah and work out your grievances now, before this goes any further. Crandall needs to be in here; I need both of you communicating before you pick him up."

"Look, Cap, she – "

"I don't care what she did, I don't care what you did. I really don't want to be in the middle of another bullpen showdown, so get into an interrogation room and work it all out. **Now**."

Munch got up to leave, a heavy, defeated sigh escaping him as he turned toward the door.

"Have I made myself clear, John?"

"Yes. Yes, you have." With that, John left, closing the door behind him. Covering his anger as well as he could, he returned to his desk. His desk facing Sarah's, he looked over to her, waiting for her to finish the document she was working on. "Zelman, meet me in Interrogation Two. We need to talk."

Together, they walked silently into the room. John closed the door and gestured for Sarah to sit down. "Have a seat, if you don't mind."

She continued to stand – and stand her ground. "We both got our asses handed to us. There's nothing to sit down and discuss." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked into the one-way glass. "Cap's probably watching us to make sure he gets what he wants," she whispered.

John cast a glance at the window, sure she was right. "Then do what you need to do…apologize. Tell me you're sorry about the trial outcome, that you didn't mean what you said this morning, then we'll go drag Bubba out of his barn." He perched on the edge of the metal table, waiting.

Zelman stared at him, incredulous. "Apologize? After the way you were on my back this morning?" She walked over to him, her face inches from his. "You need to wake up, John, because you're clearly dreaming if you think I'm sorry for anything I've said. You're the problem here, Sarge, so you get to knuckle under first." She pulled back, still watching his face. "Well?"

"Hell can freeze over first," he snapped. John nodded toward the glass, gave her a shrug and his most sarcastic half-smile. "When you get a rip for insubordination, don't come crying to me."

"Rips don't faze me, Don knows that better than anyone," she retorted. Sarah opened his suit coat, reached into his pocket and extracted the arrest warrant. "We'll play 'Let's Pretend' for the sake of our C.O. and go get Crandall." She almost got a paper cut when he grabbed the warrant back, placing it in his pocket once more. "I'll even let you drive."

"I always do." He huffed, rising from his seat on the table, still deeply irked he didn't get the apology he felt he was owed.

…_**to be continued.**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Split Second" by Cardinal Robbins

Chapter Two

_**Author's Note**_**:** _I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated this, but I am definitely still writing John & Sarah fanfic, so never fear. I have quite a few J&S fics in progress, while I work on my crime novel._

_**There is also some news!**__ A few weeks ago, I discovered the draft of an SVU spec script I'd written about six years ago. In looking it over, it seems to be salvageable with some major editing. (There have been cast changes since I wrote that draft.) I was able to upgrade my version of Final Draft software for an extremely reasonable amount of cash. Then, the local community college offered a screenwriting course, so I've just finished the first class of six weeks. Homework is very heavy, but well worth it!_

_**The best news of all?**__ Warren Leight (SVU's showrunner) and I have been exchanging tweets on Twitter and – if I can get an agent to submit my finished script – he is entirely willing to actually read it and consider it. That would be __**epic**__! I'm working on a __**second**__ SVU spec script while I revise the first one, so that WL will have more than one example of my work to consider. You can bet that Munch figures prominently in each spec script, although they need to be truly ensemble scripts for the showrunner's consideration. __**Please keep a good thought for me and wish me luck, because it would make SVU history for a fanfic author to break into the realm of actually writing a script that was accepted by Wolf Films for SVU production.**_

_Thank you for all the great e-mails you've sent me, asking me to continue this fic and others in progress, as well as the reviews. I always appreciate your time and thoughts, and can't thank you enough for reading my work. If you know other fans who love Munch, __**please**__ let them know about this and my other fics by sharing links. __**Thank you so much!**__ - Cardinal _

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Don Cragen walked into the ER waiting area in time to see a smartly dressed woman in a lab coat enter. She looked around the room, saw John still in his Kevlar and asked, "Are you Detective Munch?"

John felt as if the wind had been forced from his lungs. "My God… Sarah. They've sent you to tell me she's gone." He sat down heavily, his body almost numb as he stared at her.

"That's not why I'm here," the woman said quickly. "I'm Elaine Harrington, the surgery liaison. The surgeon wanted me to let you know Sarah's been successfully anesthetized. They had to put her under before she was stable, but they're doing everything they can."

He pulled in a deep breath, relief on his long features. "Will you be the person they send if everything goes south?" John noticed Cragen had moved closer to him, as Fin had, the two of them protectively closing ranks around him.

"If that happens, the surgeon will be the one who tells you," she answered, careful to maintain her neutral expression. "I'll be keeping you updated on where Sarah is and how she's doing, but right now I'd like to ask you to go to the second floor." She held out a map for him to take, adding, "The surgery waiting room is there, adjacent to both the OR and ICU. When he can, the surgeon will meet you there."

Munch nodded, rising from his seat. "We're on our way." He glanced at the map, resisting the urge to crumple it in his hand, all too aware of where the OR waiting room was located. He saw Harrington walk away, his only link to Sarah going through the door to another anxious relative or friend. "I take it Fin told you what happened, Cap?"

"He filled me in, but we'll talk more about it in a little while," he said sadly. "We'd better get upstairs, in case there's more news."

"Here, IAB will want this. Careful, there's one still chambered up." John reached into his holster, pulled out his pistol and handed it to Cragen as the three men walked to the elevators. "It was a clean shooting, but I was firing blind while he was trying to kill us both with his crossbow." He shook his head, feeling further violated now that he would be without his Glock. "I know they'll want to interrogate me about this, to see what kind of damage they can do."

"IAB probably won't need much from you, John," Cap replied, holstering the detective's pistol. "There was a woman downstairs who saw you fire your weapon while your partner was down. She ran outside, scared out of her wits, but she stayed long enough to give a statement to one of the uniforms. Crime Scene techs found the second bolt Crandall fired. They said you were lucky, by all accounts you should have been hit right between the eyes."

John stopped short in front of the far left elevator, as Fin hit the button for them. "Did I kill him?" He couldn't hide the anger in his voice. As far as he was concerned, he hoped Crandall had been taken out as a stiff. "Please tell me he's dead, the worthless murdering prick."

"No, but both your shots hit him," Don answered. "One in the upper right chest, the other in his gut. They took him to Bellevue." He paused as they stepped into the elevator. "Word has it, the second shot tore through his stomach and intestines so he'll be shitting into a bag for the rest of his life." Once the doors opened again, he saw the sign directing them to the OR waiting room, which was empty save for an elderly couple talking quietly.

"I wish I would have killed him," John said, keeping his voice lowered.

"I hate to tell you this, but they expect him to live," Don replied, every bit as disgusted with that prospect as the rest of his squad. He went immediately to the coffee maker and poured a cup, passing it to Fin, then poured one for himself. He knew John would go for the hot water and teabags, next to the coffee pot. "I'm not happy about it, either, but unless he develops some rampant infection after surgery, he'll live to stand trial."

"One count of murder and two counts of attempted murder of a police officer," Fin said, his voice a low growl, as John made himself a strong cup of tea. "That should be enough to put him away for a long time. Casey won't be making a deal this time."

"Let's put it this way," John replied bitterly, "if she does, I'm putting in my resignation."

It had been three hours of waiting, each drinking their choice of caffeinated beverage, trying to tune out the drone of Fox News on the flat screen television mounted near the ceiling. The elderly couple had left with smiles on their faces, their dear friend's doctor having come to them with good news.

Elaine found the SVU detectives sitting silently, John finally out of his Kevlar vest with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His head snapped up when he heard her come in, his blood pressure so high he could hear it rushing in his ears. "It's going as well as can be expected," she said, choosing her words deliberately. "The surgeons wanted me to bring you this. It's evidence." She reached out, handing him a bag with what was left of Sarah's bloodied Kevlar vest, the material having been cut off of her in sections at some point. Inside the bag was a clear plastic container holding two pieces of the crossbow bolt, the fletched section having been cut from the bladed section.

John held the container up to the light, shocked that the arrow head itself was part of a hunting bolt – two triangular pieces of metal sharpened like razor blades, the pieces fastened at right angles to each other, making a four-sided weapon. How the surgeon and his team had managed to remove it from her lung, he had no idea.

"I'll continue to keep you posted," Harrington said, leaving as quietly as she'd come in.

Moments later, Olivia Benson walked in, Elliot Stabler holding the door for her. She sat down next to John and put her arm around his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. "El and I have been in court. Cap sent us each a text to let us know what happened," she said softly. "Any word yet?"

Munch handed her the plastic container he'd examined, the continued sight of it making his blood run cold. "The thoracic surgeon took this out of her right lung. We're still waiting on more news." He shook off her embrace, abruptly stood and walked out. John had enough of waiting, frantically thinking of what his life would be like if Sarah died. She'd made her last wishes known, but he didn't know if he could comply. She wanted something no Jew should ever do – to be cremated. He would carry out her desire to be an organ donor, after all the dot for organ donation was on his driver's license as well, but could he really follow through on having her remains reduced to ash?

He tried to push those thoughts from his mind as he walked the short distance down the hallway to the closed double-doors at the entrance of the OR. John looked through the windows, surprised in a way that it was so quiet and empty in the main hallway to the operating suites. Tired beyond his years, he stood against the wall and allowed himself to slide to the floor, his knees against his chest, his head down. When the surgeon came through those doors, he was sure whatever the news was, it would profoundly change his life.

Munch had no idea how long he'd been sitting there when he heard a voice call his name. "What? Is there more news?" He raised his head wearily as Benson sat down beside him.

"Nothing yet, but everyone's been worried about you. You should come back to the waiting room." She put her hand over his, worried that he looked almost gaunt in the stark light of the hallway. "C'mon… Fin wants to get you something from the cafeteria. Sarah won't be happy if we don't grab you something to eat." She tried to force nonchalance into her voice but failed.

"Food is the last thing on my mind right now," he replied, trying not to snap at her. He needed his time alone, but knew she wouldn't give up until he'd done what she asked. She was nothing if not persistent. He stood, his knees and back aching, wondering what Fin could bring back for him that would stay down. "Fine. I could probably choke something down if I had to, because you're right about Sarah."

They returned to the waiting room, another hour having passed by without word. Fin and Elliot brought back sandwiches for everyone, with John taking infrequent bites of tuna salad on whole wheat. Other people came and went, most often in twos, waiting for word on their friends and loved ones.

Finally, a man in deep cranberry colored scrubs and a white lab coat came in, a somber expression on his lightly tanned face. Dr. Aziz Rajesh, Thoracic Surgeon, was embroidered above the chest pocket on his coat. John immediately stood up, struggling to conceal his anguish. "Are you here about Sarah Zelman?" He felt his legs shaking ever so slightly and wondered if he should sit down. "Did she make it off the table?"

"She did," he replied, using the cautious tone of voice all surgeons had when they weren't confident of their patient's outcome. "We've moved her straight into ICU instead of her going to the Recovery area." He motioned to the long banquette seat along one side of the wall, encouraging Munch to sit down. "She's in guarded condition right now. I won't lie to you, Detective, her chances at this point are not good. She's lost a lot of blood. The arrowhead was hard to remove, complicated by its having hit between her ribs and shattering parts of both." He waited, to allow the information to sink in, giving John an opportunity for questions.

"Did you have to remove her lung?" he asked, his voice hollow in his ears.

"No, I wanted that to be a last resort if we couldn't stop the bleeding," Dr. Rajesh answered. "I used surgical glue to carefully reconstruct the fractured portions of each rib, then covered the areas with grafting material. She's going to be on a ventilator for at least 72 hours, to allow her lungs to rest completely." He looked disappointed over the outcome, but tried to hide it in front of her squad-mates. "She's still in shock. We're giving her more blood, it will be at least an hour or more before you can see her. They're getting her settled in ICU, which involves a lot of equipment. When you can see her, a nurse from ICU or the surgical liaison will come here to get you." The Indian looked from one to another of those gathered to either side of John. "Do you have any questions?"

John got right to the point. "You're telling me she's on life-support. Will she make it or not?" He almost choked on the words, sure there was more the doctor knew but wasn't telling them.

"She is on life-support for now," Rajesh confirmed. "It doesn't look good. If I had to give a percentage, I'd say her chances are less than ten percent at this point." He sighed, wishing he had better news as all five of them hung on his every word. "It's dire enough, I'll be sleeping in my office downstairs tonight, checking on her frequently. Normally, I'd restrict you to having one person by her side in ICU but I'll allow two in this case. But no more than two."

Fin stood, less than three steps away from the surgeon. "Why do I have the feeling that she's worse than you're telling us? What happened in there that you're not sayin'?" He knew the doctor was being straight with them, yet there was something left unsaid. Tutuola wondered if it had been because Rajesh worried about Munch's reaction. Frankly, John looked like hell, with good reason.

The surgeon took in a deep breath, letting it out very slowly. "Soon after we started surgery, her heart stopped. Sarah coded."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Almost two hours later, Munch stood in front of the entrance to Zelman's room in ICU, Fin beside him. He saw the nurse standing at her bedside, adjusting the level of Fentanyl that flowed into her system to relieve her pain and keep her sedated. John heard the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator, the machine keeping Sarah alive while others monitored everything from her heart rate to the amount of oxygen in her blood.

The nurse looked over to him as he approached his partner. "You can touch her, if you want. She's sedated, but she can probably hear you on some level if you'd like to talk to her."

John reached down, wondering if he could hold her hand. She had more than one IV, another set of tubing delivering yet more O-negative blood, a tube carefully placed to convey antibiotics and one more to provide nutrients. He saw a tube exiting her chest, as her pleural cavity drained of excess blood and fluid. Seeing her in the bed, covered in blankets, she looked frail. Even after 9/11, she looked like a fighter but now she lay pale and motionless before him, no will to survive at all costs evident in her expression. The bed seemed to swallow her to a degree, all of the equipment almost intimidating as he slipped her hand in his.

"She's so cold," he said, looking over to the nurse. "Is she still in shock?"

"Yes," she replied. "We're trying to keep her as warm as possible. She'll be getting more than one unit of blood tonight. We're still trying to stabilize her." She watched the EKG monitor, wishing Sarah's heart rate would settle. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want. I'll be in here most of the night." She gestured across the room to a straight-backed chair, next to a large recliner. "Feel free to bring the chair over near her bed and sit down. It's going to be a long night for you."

"Thank you, but I've been sitting all day. I think I'll stand for a while." John reached down to gently smooth Sarah's hair back from her forehead, her skin not quite as cool and clammy as it had been almost immediately after she was shot. He glanced over, wondering if Fin was really asleep in the recliner or if he was merely resting his eyes. "Fin?"

"I'm catching a cat nap, bro," he said. "I've got second watch. Let me know when you want to trade places." He knew he had plenty of time to grab whatever sleep he could, considering how long John had waited to be with Sarah.

Munch placed his hand against Zelman's cheek, a calming gesture between them almost since they'd first known each other. "Everything's going to be all right, Sarah," he whispered, "but you have to fight. Please don't let Crandall take you away from me." He bent and lightly kissed her forehead, feeling absolutely helpless he could do nothing more for her.

John quietly brought the chair over and placed it where he could continue to watch his partner, taking her hand in his from time to time. He almost couldn't believe it had come down to this in the course of one day, a handful of hours. They'd shared hateful words between them, unable to reconcile even when their captain had stepped in to force the issue. A few short hours after that, it happened – she'd almost shoved her way in front of him and he'd allowed it for the sake of not perpetuating their argument. If only he'd grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her behind him. If he'd simply decided not to let her have her way, been her sergeant instead of her lover, if he'd only have done something more to protect her. His mind was filled with so many ways the situation could have played out, if he'd stepped in to change fate. _If only…_rolled over and over in his mind, waves of regret crashing against him.

He knew if he had, he'd be lying in that bed instead of her. She'd be emotionally shattered, but he would do anything to keep her from harm, even if it meant his life. He'd do more than take a bullet, bolt or blade for her, if God would just let him repeat the day with different consequences. He gently squeezed her hand, reminding himself bitterly she was probably too sedated to even realize he was there.

His thoughts drifted back to his Baltimore days, when he and three of his homicide squad mates had gone into an apartment building to bring in a perp and it had all gone horribly wrong. Gordon Pratt had shot his partner, another detective, and a woman he secretly loved more than she realized. She had been allowed to go in first, only to catch a bullet in the heart and almost lose her life. Sometimes, John wondered if he could do anything right.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Thanks for coming to meet with me, Doc," Cragen said, standing as George Huang came to his table in Mercy General's cafeteria. "I know you and Sarah are close, that you both go back to the start of her days with the Bureau. I wanted to make sure you knew what happened before you read it in the Post." He sat down as Huang did, still nursing a cup of coffee long gone cold.

"As soon as you told me, I called her surgeon," George replied. "He told me he was staying here tonight because she wasn't doing well." He'd grabbed a mocha from the coffee cart on his way into the building. He took a careful sip as he considered how the squad would be affected by her death. "How's John doing right now?" He knew it couldn't be good, considering how close Munch and Zelman were both on and off the clock.

"He's running on fumes." Don took another sip of coffee, wondering what his next move should be – whether to go up to ICU or stay in the background as he was, in case they'd eventually need him. "He's gone far past what could be considered Jewish guilt. He's been beating himself up over this since before she went into surgery. IAB was able to get a statement from him, but barely. I've never seen him this close to shutting down entirely." The police captain hadn't smoked in years, usually a couple at his favorite watering hole, back when he drank. He wished he had a Marlboro now if only to break the tension clustered in his neck and shoulders.

"He'll verbally spar with me, but I can usually get him to open up at least somewhat," Huang asserted. "If it has to do with Sarah, he'll almost always tell me what's on his mind." He looked down at his leather medical bag, wondering if he'd need it before the night was through. "I need to go up there and see what I can do." He stared down into his coffee cup for a moment, the dark liquid holding no answers for him. "I want to make sure I see her, then I'll talk with John."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

George Huang knew his medical credentials would allow him into Sarah's room, despite it violating the two person rule. As he expected, once he identified himself as one of her doctors, the double doors automatically swung open and he walked into the ICU wing. He saw a huge whiteboard on the wall near the desk, listing each patient and their assigned nursing staff.

Zelman was in room six, directly across from the nurses' station where a male RN addressed him. "There are two people in there already, Doctor. I think they're detectives who work with her."

"I'll ask one to come out while I'm here." He knew it had to be Fin Tutuola, dedicated to both his partners especially during a crisis. Hopefully, Fin would understand his need to see Sarah, his not having spoken with her in a few days making it even more urgent. George almost silently walked into the room as the nurse observing her glanced up. "I'm one of her doctors," he offered, as Munch turned and looked at him.

At the sound of Huang's voice, Fin opened his eyes, slowly getting up from the recliner. "I'm going down to the cafeteria to get some coffee," he said. "I'll bring you back some tea, John." He thought it best to give the two men time alone to discuss the situation, but on the face of it there wasn't much to talk about.

"I'll move," Munch offered, "so you can sit down for a few minutes." He reluctantly let go of Sarah's hand as he stood, moving behind the chair and gesturing to the Doctor. "Go ahead and sit. I'd offer you time alone with her, but I'm not leaving her side at this point." He watched as George took John's place, his gaze on Sarah's face before he studied readings from all the monitors. "Anyone fill you in on her chances?" Munch asked softly.

"I've spoken with her surgeon," he replied, wishing he'd heard better news. "Cragen let me know what happened and I made a few calls before I came up here." He saw her chest rise and fall in rhythm with the ventilator, her vital signs fluctuating much more than he was comfortable with at that point. "I wish I had something more hopeful to tell you, John."

"The only thing I want you to tell me," he replied gently, "is that you're not here to shrink me." His hands clenched hard on the back of the chair, willing himself to relax but failing. "I can't take it right now."

"I'm not here to shrink you, John. I'm here to see if there's anything I can do to help you or Sarah." He stood, moving to where he could speak with Munch face to face.

"The only thing you can do right now is reach into the future and tell me when she'll be stable." His hands loosely on his hips, he shook his head, clearly frustrated. "I'm not trying to be sarcastic, Doc, but everyone keeps telling me she's probably not going to make it. I refuse to give up on her."

"No one's giving up on her, John. The doctors want to be optimistic but they also don't want to raise your hopes." He let out a sigh, scrubbing his face with his hand. "We shouldn't lose hope, however, because she's always been a fighter."

"She was injured even worse in the WTC disaster, but this has hit her harder," John explained. "I'm not seeing her fight like she always has in the past. I'm not seeing much at all, and I know she doesn't want to be in a position where a machine is keeping her alive for very long." He looked at her face, then at the nurse who was hanging another unit of packed red cells. "She's not bouncing back like she did then." _And it frightens me_, he thought, unwilling to give George any reason to psychoanalyze him more than he already had.

"We're older. She's older, John…ten years older than when the Towers fell." He watched the nurse walk out of the room, toward the nurses' station. "It doesn't seem like a lot of time, it doesn't even look like a lot of time, but her body requires additional time to heal. She could stabilize in an hour or in a few days – no one can be sure, not even her doctors." He looked up, momentarily panicked as he saw her heart rate monitor. He grabbed the chair, slid it far out of the way, then hit the call button as the nurse reentered the room. "You need to see this, it looks like she's starting to go into atrial fibrillation."

John's gaze was on the heart monitor, too, when he heard the tone in Huang's voice. His shoulders jumped when the nurse immediately went to get the crash cart, just outside the entrance to Sarah's room. "It's her heart, isn't it? I need to know what's going on!" He saw the nurse reach the foot of the bed as Zelman's heart rate went flat-line on the monitor.

"You can't be in here right now, John!" Huang said, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him from the room as more nurses came in to assist.

"I need to be with her!" he countered, trying to get back into the room to be by her side. "You're telling me her heart's stopped? I have to be in there!" He heard the controlled chaos of the code blue, the nurse at the station calling Zelman's surgeon to come to ICU immediately. He looked through the glass wall of her room, anguished further as a nurse yanked the curtains closed.

Fin gained access to the wing by following another of Sarah's doctors into the ICU. He saw what was happening in her room and immediately knew her heart had stopped. He put the cup of tea he was holding down on the counter of the nurses' station, so he could lead John away from the emergency. "They'll get her back, John! You know she'll fight like hell."

"All I know is that I should be in there with her," he said miserably. "If she knows I'm there, maybe she'll fight!" Her thoracic surgeon rushed by them, followed by a lab tech. John stood, unmoving, his eyes closed. "I'm losing her, I can tell. I never thought it would end this way," he whispered. "I thought I'd have her longer."

Huang pushed his way past John and Fin, entering Sarah's room to stand in the front corner, out of the way of the team. He saw her heartbeat on the monitor, weak and slow at first but in sinus rhythm, steadily getting stronger. The air was electric, everyone still in the throes of an adrenaline rush, having successfully resuscitated her. Her surgeon looked over and saw Huang standing in the shadows. "Thank you," the Asian said quietly.

"Fortunately we were right on top of this one, too," Rajesh replied, watching the nurses complete his orders. "This could be the turning point either way. She will rally from this and slowly begin to stabilize, or she will code again and we will lose her." He gestured for Huang to follow him as he went out into the hallway to talk with John.

"We got her back," he said immediately, recognizing the expression of hopelessness on John's long face. "You can go back in and be with her now, Detective."

"Thank you…thank you for bringing her back," Munch replied, his breathing labored. He felt his hands and legs shaking, thinking it had to be from his own adrenaline overload. John felt like the air was being squeezed from his lungs, his chest felt so constricted. He was having trouble drawing a deep breath, his hand going to his chest.

Fin saw the pallor on Munch's face, sweat beading across his partner's forehead. "Doc, you need to check John out – something's not right." He moved forward as John bent over in another effort to catch his breath. "John, man, you need to tell us what's going on."

He tried to straighten, an agonized look on his face. "My chest is so tight, I can't breathe."

Dr. Rajesh motioned to one of the nurses, calling her over. "Get someone from the ER up here with a gurney, stat!" He reached out and grasped John's wrist to take his pulse. "Your heart is racing. Let's get you to the floor, you need to lie down." The nurse called the ER then returned to assist the doctor, removing John's suit coat and loosening his tie. "We need to examine you in the Emergency Room, Detective. I want to be sure you're not having a heart attack."

…_**to be continued.**_


End file.
